


The Politician's Son

by Childoferis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Slow Build, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 17:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4146102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Childoferis/pseuds/Childoferis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is the son of a notable Southern politician and is does whatever he must to please his dad. <br/>Louis is the son of a preacher and finds every way he can to rebel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Politician's Son

**Author's Note:**

> I know some of the character names are off, sorry! This is my first time posting anything though, so feedback is appreciated!

_Chapter 1_

“I stand before you tonight a very disappointed man. I am disappointed that the federal judiciary, acting out of Washington, has decided not to hear the appeal from Virginia’s case for traditional marriage. Friends, you voted last year to stop the encroachment of the disease of homosexual marriage upon our great, God-fearing state. By refusing to hear the case, the Supreme Court has shown complete disregard for the rights of our citizens. As your Attorney General, I will continue to fight for a Constitutional amendment on the National scale to bar the further encroachment of your civil liberties. Tonight, I have drafted a petition that I plan to submit to Justice Scalia to call an emergency meeting of the court in order to place a blanket ban until Congress resumes session to act on this matter. We will work together to ensure that my family, your family, and families all over our great state are protected from the evil that is trying to tear the institution of marriage apart.”

The crowd erupted in a thunderous applause. From the stage, Harry could see signs waving, supporting his father for his archaic stance. However, the boy maintained a smiling face, supporting the hard work his father was doing. Harry looked towards the podium, where Edward Styles was waving a hand for Harry, Gemma, and Anne to join him for some great, smiling, traditional family photos. No matter what Harry thought about his father’s stance on various issues, he would never think of not supporting him.

In all honesty, Harry was the child most parents dreamed about. He did whatever he was told, whenever he was told. He got straight As in school, and he smiled for every photo op with no questions asked.

 

Edward sat down in the suede armchair next to the fireplace and loosened his tie, a sigh escaping from between his lips. Harry was lying on the loveseat directly opposite, his feet hanging over the edge closest to the fire, clad in socks covered in snowmen. His head lay on the opposite armrest, green eyes focusing intently on the red 3DS in his hand. His eyebrows furrowed as he led his character threw a patch of grass and his worst fears were realized: a battle with a rattatat. It wasn’t that these things were _hard_ , necessarily, just an unnecessary waste of time when Harry just wanted to get to the next city. But no matter, one minute and one ‘lightning’ attack from Harry’s Pikachu later, and the boy was smiling, having defeated the enemy and crossed the rest of the grass with no more annoying encounters.

“Excellent speech tonight, Dear,” Anne cooed as she approached the armchair with a glass of Scotch for Edward, “I could feel the emotion, and you definitely have those people’s vote.”

Anne walked to the other armchair in the room and sat with all the poise of a woman who grew up in an upper-class family.

“Yes, well I need to consult with Troy tomorrow. Speeches are all well and good, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do when this horrid thing becomes law in a month.” Edward mused, swirling the scotch in his hand. The ice clinked against the side of the glass, easing the pause in the conversation.

Across the room, Harry felt a familiar knot begin in the beginning of his stomach. “Mom, I’m starving,” he said, rubbing his stomach.

“Very well, why don’t you text Jerry and have him make you something to eat? It’s only 10 pm, he shouldn’t be asleep yet,” she responded, looking down at the white iPhone now nestled in her palm.

“I want Taco Bell though, can’t you call Gemma and have her pick me some up on her way home?”

“Harold, can you not call your sister yourself? Your mother has had a very long day,” his father said pointedly, staring at Harry over his now half-empty glass of scotch.

“Noooo, she won’t do it if I ask,” Harry complained.

“Men do not whine,” Edward chastised from across the room.

“Yes sir,” Harry frowned.

“It’s fine, boys. I texted Gemma, she’s going to pick it up on the way home.” With that, Anne stood up and walked over to kiss Harry’s forehead. “I’m going to bed, see you soon, Dear.” She said to Edward. As she walked out of the room, she let down her hair and began to take out her earrings.

Once Anne was out of earshot, Edward turned to Harry with his eyes gleaming, and the right side of his mouth tilted upwards, “Son, there are two very important things you need to look for when you find a wife: that she’s willing to spend the rest of her life devoted to taking care of you and your children, and that she has the right assets to keep you satisfied.” Edward chuckled and raised the glass to his lips, downing the last bit of liquid he had left. Harry just clenched his teeth and forced a half-smile as he tried to pretend he was too focused on Pokémon to be fully involved. Edward placed the glass on the side table and used the arms of the chair to push himself upward. He strode to the couch and leaned down to kiss Harry’s forehead. “I love you son. Don’t forget to say your prayers before you go to bed.”

“Yes sir,” Harry replied.

“Good man,” Edward said, rubbing Harry’s short hair. He strode out of the room and Harry paused the game. He reached his hand down into his snug pockets and wiggled his phone loose using his middle and index fingers. His phone was his only solace; luckily, his parents never looked through it, so he could have a place to voice his thoughts. Harry unlocked the phone and scrolled to the last text message he had gotten from Liam. Typing quickly, he wrote: _They finally went to bed. Listening to that BS was the most stressful thing I’ve done in weeks._

Liam: _It was pretty horrible dude, u still have to support it?_

Harry: _unless i want 2 b blamed for the failure of his career but it’s good, Gemma can’t stand it either. College soon!!!!_

Liam: _lol old people, man. It’s cool. Speaking of Gemma, tho, gotta give me her number_

Harry: _lmao never in a million years bro_

“Taco Bell, delivery for one,” Gemma sing-songed as she walked into the room. She dropped the bag full of greasy, doughy goodness onto Harry’s chest as she passed the couch, “I didn’t know what you wanted, so I got you one of everything.” Seeing Harry narrow his eyes, she smirked, “Don’t worry about paying me back. I used Dad’s credit card.” Harry laughed as closed the lid of his DS and set it on the couch beside him. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and, as he did, a small pile of burritos fell out of the bag on his chest and into the crease in the couch. Gemma laughed loudly, then immediately got quiet when she thought of her parents sleeping one room over. “Come on, let’s go sit in your room and eat these.” Gemma grabbed the bag from Harry’s chest and started walking to his room. Harry quickly collected what had fallen and scurried after Gemma.

Harry walked into his room, arms overflowing with Taco Bell, his chin preventing the pile from falling. Gemma was already sitting on his bed with crossed legs, unwrapping a Quesarito.

Harry let the mountain of food in his arms tumble onto the bed. He cleared a spot to sit and plopped down. “How was your night, Gem?”

“Eh. The usual jokes about Dad’s removal from modern society and then we all went for ice cream,” Gemma said, rolling her eyes.

Harry wiggled his eyebrows, “And was Robbie theeeeere?’

Gemma aimed a punch at Harry’s right nipple. “Aahhhh!” Harry said loudly. Then, lowering his voice, “So he **was** there?”

Gemma allowed a loud sigh to escape from her lips, “Yes, he was there, but it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Does it not?” Harry giggled.

“Nooooo,” Gemma fired back.

“Tell me the truth or I’ll give Liam your number,” Harry said, raising his eyebrows and flashing a toothy grin.

“Fine. We’re going to get coffee on Friday,” Gemma admitted, her face turning a bright shade of red. “What about you? What about your love life?”

Harry’s grin turned into a frown, “You know that isn’t possible,” he said, his forehead crinkling with worry.

“I’m sorry Haz…I just thought….”

“Thought **_what_** exactly?”

“When are you going to tell them?”

Harry laughed, “Maybe once college is over and I can pay for my own things and not have crippling piles of debt and I won’t be homeless.”

This time, Gemma’s face was the one screwed up with worry, “You know I’m here for you, right?”

“Yeah,” Harry smiled, “Thanks sis. But don’t worry about me. Besides, you’re the one going on a date with a black guy on Friday. Dad’s going to be pissed.”  
“Dad can shove his antiquated beliefs right up his ass.”

“Why, Gemma,” Harry said in mock outrage, “a lady should never speak in such a way!”

Gemma pushed Harry over, the two dissolving into a mess of laughter. Harry saw an opening and started tickling Gemma. Twenty minutes later, wrapped burritos littered the floor and the two lay sprawled across the bed.

“Gem, are you scared?”

“Of what?”

“I mean, you’re going to college next week.”

“Nahh. I’ll have more freedom. I won’t have to worry about appearing in public, except maybe when I come home. I won’t have to listen to Mama telling me a million times a day how a lady’s supposed to act or have to hide my disgust when Daddy starts spouting off his racist, misogynist, homophobic remarks…” she trailed off.

The room was silent.   
Then, suddenly, Gemma spoke, “Honestly, I’m more worried about you. Harry, you’ve got to stand up to them, even if it’s just in little ways. You don’t have to want to dismantle the entire establishment, but you’re such a **_good_** kid that they walk all over you and think you’re soaking up their hatred.”

“And what are you doing to push back against them?”

With a glint in her eye, Gemma reached down and grabbed one of the abandoned burritos, “Rebellion comes in many forms.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, thinking.

“Anyway, I’ve had this dress on for damn near twelve hours. I’m ready to get changed. Speaking of, why are you still wearing that dress crap?”

Harry laughed, “Well you see…I…”

“You were playing Pokémon from the time you got home, weren’t you?” Gemma accused.

Harry made a big deal of closing his mouth, symbolically ‘zipping’ them and then pushing them together so they couldn’t be seen.

“You’re a mess,” Gemma laughed, “But I love you Haz. Now change. And sleep.” Gemma got up from the bed and smoothed her dress. She came around to the other side of the bed and leaned down to kiss Harry’s head. “I miss your curls,” she said wistfully.

Harry deepened his voice in an exaggerated imitation of his father, “Men do not have long hair.” He laughed. Gemma rolled her eyes, “You’re the one who’s a mess. Good night.”

Harry rose from the bed and walked over to the mirror to look at himself. After spending more than half the day in the clothes his father required of him on stage, Harry’s navy shirt was only half buttoned and half tucked in. He smiled at his disheveled appearance. He quickly unbuttoned the shirt the rest of the way down and shrugged it off. He undid the button on his grey chinos and pulled the zipper down. Harry hooked his thumbs underneath the waistband of his underwear and pants and slid them down to his ankles, raising his feet to remove them completely. He took his socks off and _finally_ felt free. He retrieved his discarded clothes from the floor and took them over to the laundry basket, still naked. As weird as it seemed, the only time Harry ever felt truly free was when he didn’t wear any clothes: free of his father’s expectations, of the boy he presented to the media, and free to be who he truly was. So naturally, he was naked as often as possible. He strode back over to the mirror; Harry ran his fingers over his extra two nipples, barely noticeable to some people, but something he always had trouble accepting. He stared up and down his entire body, taking in every blemish. The slight acne on his forehead, the mole on his bottom left cheek, the way he was slightly chubby, the birthmark on his inner thigh next to his… well, whatever. Each night before going to bed, Harry tried to pick out two different things from the night before that he liked about himself. Appraising his body again, he decided, _‘okay, my ears are a perfect size aaaaaaand hmm. The hair on my legs really is starting to become quite grown in and nice.’_ Satisfied with the attributes he chose to appreciate, Harry walked over to the dresser in the corner of his room. He rummaged through the top drawer and pulled out a pair of red gym shorts. Harry closed the drawer and slipped the shorts on, the smooth fabric sliding against his skin. He turned off the light, plugged in his phone, and got into bed, feeling warm as he was engulfed by his heavy comforter. Before long, he was fast asleep.

 

Louis turned over in his bed, the covers wrapping around his feet. Groaning, he reached down and pulled the comforter and sheet loose. He pat the bed beside him and found his phone. He opened his eyes and pressed the home button. The screen turned on and he checked the time: 6:55 AM. _Perfect. Five more minutes to sleep._ He closed his eyes and let his head fall onto his pillows. Not a minute later, he heard his mother screaming up the stairs, “LOUIS! Get up and get ready! You need to go with your father today!”

Louis sighed and turned his face into his pillow. He didn’t understand why his father still made him go to meetings with Edward Styles. When he was younger, it served as sort of a playdate for Louis and Harry, but Louis had long outgrown Harry’s acceptance of Edward’s political views. The past few years, Louis would find somewhere quiet to read, and Harry would….well, Louis hadn’t even seen Harry. “LOUIS! Five minutes and you need to be down here for breakfast! Hurry now!”

Louis ran his hand through his hair and raised his body from the mattress. He pulled himself into a sitting position and looked around the room. There was a pile of dirty clothes next to the closet, a pile of clean clothes next to the dresser, and a pile of magazines next to the night stand. Louis wasn’t sure why he set everything beside the place he meant for it to be, but his mother liked to say it was because he wanted to rebel against his father in every possible way. Not like his father ever set foot inside Louis’ room. Louis swiveled his legs off the edge of the bed and stood up. He raised his arms above his head and yawned. _Ahh, much better._ Louis walked into the bathroom that was attached to his room. He looked in the mirror at his mostly naked body. A soccer player since he could walk, Louis’ body was long and lean, any fat that may have existed shaven off by hours of running. The last time Troy Tomlinson had gone to see one of Louis’ matches was in elementary school when it was still acceptable to play. Troy didn’t believe that soccer was a sport that an American boy should be playing into middle school. With Louis finally in his sophomore year of high school, Troy had finally stopped pressuring him to take up a ‘real sport,’ but that didn’t mean he didn’t make it clear what he thought of it.

Louis ran his hand through his hair and exhaled deeply. He pushed his black Calvin Klein briefs down to his ankles and stepped out of them. He leaned over the bathtub and adjusted the knobs to make the water nearly scalding. Louis stepped into the tub and let the hot water run over his body, throwing his head back and relishing its massaging grip.

Ten minutes later, Louis was clean and well dressed in chinos, a grey cardigan covering a maroon checkered button up shirt. He bounded down the stairs, his brown wing tips making musical tapping noises upon the stairs.

Turning into the kitchen, Louis saw his father sitting at the table, face obscured by the newspaper. Troy’s face was rarely seen by his family, anyway. If he wasn’t at work, he was reading: the newspaper, stock reports, emails… Louis had given up long ago trying to get any kind of positive attention from Troy. The only time Troy paid any kind of attention to the family was to criticize choices he didn’t approve of.

Louis settled into a chair and grabbed the pitcher of Orange Juice and poured it into the glass sitting in front of him. He took his fork and stabbed a couple of pancakes from the stack in the middle of the table and drenched them in syrup. “Your mother worked very hard on cooking them and now you’ve covered the taste in syrup. On top of the fact that you’ve let them get cold because you can’t get up on time.” Troy berated quietly over top his newspaper.

Louis rolled his eyes, “Sorry dad.”

“Don’t apologize to me, apologize to your mom.”

Johanna giggled, “Boys, calm down; it’s fine. My pancakes do taste better with syrup,” she said, rubbing Troy’s shoulder.

“You always give him excuses, Jo,” Troy looked at her over the top of his glasses, “the real problem here is that you can never get up when I tell you to. Or rather, do anything I tell you to.”

Louis rolled his eyes. He always rolled his eyes, more than he actually talked to his father.

“I don’t even talk to Harry anymore,” Louis mumbled.

“You and Harry are best friends! You spend hours together every month!” his father retorted, putting down his paper for once.

“No,” Louis said, swirling the extra syrup around on his plate, “every time you tell me to go find Harry, I go into the sitting room and he’s nowhere to be found. I sit there for hours reading a book until you have the nanny come tell me it’s time to leave. But, you wouldn’t know that. Because you don’t care about anything that I do. You never ask. You never pay attention to me, you don’t even TALK to me on the way there, it’s just some PATHETIC EXCUSE TO PRETEND YOU—“

“LOUIS WILLIAM TOMLINSON,” Johannah yelled.

Troy’s face was red, eyes like they were about to pop out of his head.

“Don’t worry,” Louis smirked, “I’ll wait outside in the car so we can have our faux-bonding time.”

Louis stomped outside and slammed the door behind him. He angrily punched in the code on the side of the car door to unlock it and slid into the passenger seat. He took his phone out of his pocket and smiled at the picture on the home screen. Two men kissing in front of a church sign condemning all gays to hell. His parents didn’t know that he was gay, but he knew that his mom probably suspected. He slid his thumb across the bottom of the screen and entered his passcode. He pressed the green messages icon and typed in Zayn’s name: _Fight with the asshole this morning. Great day already! :D_

Zayn’s reply was almost immediate: _figures. wat now????_

L: _He doesn’t ever pay attention to anything I do. He still thinks Harry and I have been hanging out for the past 50 meetings._

Z: _haha! dude! he’s an ass. dnt let him ruin ur day_

Louis put his phone back in his pocket as his father approached the car. He crossed his arms and stared straight ahead. He heard the doors click as his father pressed the button to unlock them. Troy slid into the seat and started the car. “Don’t show your ass today, Louis. You’re pissed at me, and I don’t really care. But don’t make me look bad.”

Louis said nothing, but kept staring ahead.

 

 

 

 


End file.
